


Payment

by TheRedheadinQuestion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mystrade fluff, Winter Mystrade Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedheadinQuestion/pseuds/TheRedheadinQuestion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg does a favor for Mycroft, but demands payment for services rendered.  And It's something Greg's always wanted...</p>
<p>This is for the lovely Dreig as part of the Winter Mystrade Exchange.  Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payment

"Lestrade here."

"Ah, Gregory."

Greg leaned back in his office chair. "Hey sexy.  Thought you were out of country doing super secret things in super secret places."

"Merely a business trip, but yes.  Am I interrupting?"

"Just finishing paperwork.  What's up?  Need a quick jolt of Lestrade Lovin'?"  Greg smirked and rolled his pen between his fingers.    

"Nothing that enjoyable, I'm afraid."

Greg sighed. "Okay, what's our consulting pain-in-the-arse done now?"

"I'm not entirely sure.  I received a note that my dear brother and Dr. Watson are snooping around the Heathsford Estate.  As you might expect, Lord Heathsford is rather tetchy and insisting I personally deal with the situation."

"And Sherlock isn't returning your calls."

"He did text me with a rather creative euphemism for intercourse with one's self."

Greg snorted.  "Of course he did."

"As I am indisposed, I’d appreciate you sorting it."

"In other words, babysit the kids."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Greg thought quickly.  Heathsford Estate was a long drive from London.  This was far more than a quick visit during lunch.  He'd have to take the rest of the day and probably tomorrow.  At least.

"What do I get in return?"

"My undying gratitude."

Greg burst into laughter.  "I need way more than that, Myc.  Leaving work with no notice, traveling, not to mention dealing with whatever those two have done."

"Very well, Gregory.  Name your price."

Greg put his feet on his desk and smiled.  "You know what I want."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're referring to."

"I think you do."

"You don't mean-"

"Yep."

"I thought I explained my position rather clearly.  I’m uncomfor-"

"That's my price Myc.  Take it or leave it.  I'd hate to see Sherlock offend Lord Heathsford further and create a situation that requires you to soothe ruffled feathers.  Say by attending those cocktail parties of his?"

"Yes, yes, all right.”  Mycroft sighed heavily.  “Now then, Anthea has already arranged-"

"Just so we're clear, Myc.  You're agreeing to the scenario I outlined last week.  The entire scenario, including embellishments or improvisations as I see fit."

Silence strung out.  Greg leaned back in his chair and grinned.  He could practically hear Mycroft twisting in the wind. 

"Fine.  I shall be at your disposal."

"See?  That wasn't hard, was it?  Think of all the time we'd save if that was always your answer?"

"Gregory."

"I know, I know.  Car picking me up in an hour."

"Half an hour.  Anthea has packed your bag and arranged things with the Chief Superintendant."

 

***

 

Four days, a gun chase with Heathsford's chef and one awkward arrest later, Greg let himself into Mycroft’s house.  Strains from Bach's _Sarabande_ filtered from the back sitting room. 

“Myc?”

“In here.”

Greg  hung his coat on the hook and toed off his shoes.  He followed the voice to the kitchen, where Mycroft was decanting wine.

“Gregory.”  Mycroft wiped his hands on a towel and moved to embrace his boyfriend.  He'd already removed his jacket, waistcoat and tie, rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.  This was the Mycroft that only Greg was privy to. As they held each other, Greg buried his face in Mycroft's neck and inhaled.  There it was.  That tinge of extravagant soap floating around the edges of Mycroft’s own scent, making for the most inviting and sexy thing Greg had ever smelled in his life.  Just the idea of it made him half hard.

Greg smiled as he realized Mycroft’s face was buried in his own neck and engaged in its own sniffing, subtle and delicate as it was.   

“So it’s not just me?”

Mycroft cleared his throat and pulled away just far enough to place a chaste kiss on Greg’s lips. 

“Heaven’s no.  I find your natural fragrance soothing.  Something I sorely miss when traveling.”

Greg grinned even harder.  “I missed you too.”

They kissed slowly, leisurely for several long minutes before Mycroft broke away.  “Wine?”

Greg nodded, and Mycroft poured a measure into each of two glasses and handed one to Greg.  They tapped them together in a silent toast and each took a swallow. 

“I trust the Heathsford situation is resolved?”

“The report is on your desk as we speak.  Well, Anthea's desk."

“Excellent.  Now then.”  Mycroft put his glass on the counter and turned to face Greg. “There is the matter of dinner.  We could make reservations at Fortean's, although I confess a preference for staying in.  We could put together a-"

His words were cut short as Greg grasped Mycroft’s hand and yanked.  All at once he was against Greg’s body and wrapped up in his arms and lips.  Greg’s tongue slid against Mycroft’s bottom lip before exploring Mycroft’s mouth.  He tasted of wine with a tinge of biscuit and cigarette in the background. 

Greg broke the kiss to plant small ones along Mycroft’s jaw.  “What I really want,”  Greg growled into Mycroft’s ear, “is payment for services rendered.”

“But surely-“  Mycroft’s voice wavered as Greg rubbed his rapidly stiffening crotch against Mycroft’s hip.  “Surely you’d prefer sustenance first.”

“You’re my sustenance.”  Greg kissed his way down Mycroft’s neck to the chest hairs that nestled at the base of his throat.  God he loved those, and nuzzled against them. “And I’m hungry.  Very.  Hungry.”  He suddenly pulled away, leaving Mycroft swaying for a few moments.  Mycroft caught his balance as he opened his eyes and peered at Greg.  Color was high on his cheeks, and a very prominent bulge appeared in his ultra posh trousers.  Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hand and pulled him out of the kitchen and towards the staircase.  “Upstairs.  Now.”

They climbed the stairs hand in hand and went into the master bedroom.  They stopped at the foot of the bed and Mycroft glanced at Greg.

“So…ah…how?”  He swallowed and shifted from foot to foot.

"Relax Myc."  Greg turned on the fireplace and a warm glow filled the room.  “This isn’t torture.  You’ll love it.”  Greg removed his jacket, then unbuttoned his shirt and shed the rest of his clothes while Mycroft stared into the fire. 

“Trust me.”  Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheek and gave him a gentle kiss before peering into his eyes.  “Yeah?”

Mycroft let out a nervous breath and nodded slightly.  He took deep breaths as Greg slowly undressed Mycroft and kissed him tenderly for a few moments before gesturing to the bed.

“On your front, if you please.  Get comfortable—you’re gonna be there a while.”

Mycroft knelt on the bed and lay in the center.  He pulled a few pillows under his head before turning to glare at Greg.

“Really Gregory.  This is ridiculous.  I've always despised this aspect of myself and for you to focus on it in this manner--."  Mycroft cut himself off as his shook his head.  "Must you subject me to this inane exercise of yours?”

“I must.”  Greg climbed onto the bed and lay on his side next to Mycroft.  He leaned down and kissed a prominent freckle on his right bicep.  “Freckles are sexy Myc.  Especially yours.”

“They make me look like a cartoon.” 

Greg ignored him and kissed the freckle next to the first one, then another.  He worked his way across Mycroft's bicep.   He grew impossibly hard but ignored it.  This wasn't about getting off.  When he first met Mycroft, he immediately noticed the freckles on his hands and face and felt a strong desire to kiss them.  Not as a whole, but each one individually.  Once they became intimate, and he discovered just how many decorated Mycroft's body, the desire compounded into a constant yearning.  But as much as Greg loved those freckles, Mycroft hated them.  He insisted that they were puerile and belied the image he projected to the world. 

As Greg finished the bicep and moved down to Mycroft's forearm, Mycroft's eyes fluttered shut and his rigid body began to relax.  Greg worked in silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of endless kisses upon Mycroft's freckles.  The flames from the fireplace lit the room in a soft light, setting Mycroft's creamy skin aglow. 

Mycroft's arms finished, Greg carefully shifted and began on Mycroft's shoulders.  When he reached the back of Mycroft's neck, he heard a soft but distinct sigh.

"All right then?"

Greg barely heard the _MmmHmmm_ that ghosted from Mycroft's lips.  A smile danced about his face as he gradually kissed each freckle on Mycroft's back.  When he reached the small of the back, he felt the rest of Mycroft's tension escape his body.  When he began on Mycroft's rear, he positively melted into the mattress.

“You're so beautiful.”  Greg murmured as he kissed each freckle that dusted the backs of Mycroft's thighs.  “I’ve always wanted to do this.”  By the time he finished with Mycroft's feet, Greg thought it possible that Mycroft had entered another plane of existence.  He was positively oozing comfort and relaxation.

“Myc?  Love?”

Gregory smiled when Mycroft didn’t reply. 

“Knew you’d love it.”


End file.
